Every Single Summer Day
by StoryTruths
Summary: It's been six years since I've seen him; my magician, my storyteller, my angel, my love.


**Hey, so this is my attempt at a TKMB fanfiction. Though I did read the book for school, this wasn't written as a school assignment. It was simply written because I liked the story. I hope you like mine!**

**Disclaimer; it's all Harper Lee's. **

Every Single Summer Day

I can't live without him; it's just that that simple.

I never realized it really, when I was little. When_ we_ were little.

When we were a _we_.

* * *

I guess it was only once when I realized how much I needed him, but even then I didn't quite understand. The one summer, the one where he didn't come to Maycomb. Or at least, when he didn't come right away.

I remember those first few days without him, and then that letter he sent; I thought I would die. He wasn't coming. My rescuer, my hero, my pocket Merlin who had always been a part of my life and suddenly was no longer there.

Jem ignored me so determinedly that summer that even when he was with me I was still alone. Nothing I said or did changed anything. I was stranded in the world of Maycomb, powerless, with only Aunt Alexandra and Cal for company.

I was so desperately lonely that summer.

And then the one night….the night I found him under my bed, hiding.

I acted shocked, for everyone's sake. That was the proper emotion I was supposed to feel; after all, a boy had just emerged from underneath my bed. But what I was really feeling was a joy so complete and total I thought I would die from it. I was so thrilled that he was back.

And then later still, when he left Jem's bedroom and came to be with me; I knew he had missed me just as much, even though he didn't say it. He said it enough in the way he simply wanted to be with me, in the way he was willing to talk to me, in the way he let himself get swept away by fantasies as he lay beside me…

* * *

But I was still young then. Still too young to understand the value of the time I had with him. Too little to realize that what I was feeling wasn't the inconvenience of not having a playmate, that the way I missed him wasn't just the way any child misses their friend.

Too young to understand how much I loved him, even then, and how much I would when I finally figured it out.

It has been six years since I've seen him; my magician, my storyteller, my angel, my love.

Six years since he kissed me or told me he would "marry me as soon as he got the money".

Six years since I touched the soft white hair on his head or saw the clear blue of his eyes.

And I hate myself for not taking advantage of those years that we _did _have.

How could I have been so blind, so stupid? How could I not have realized how precious he was, even with him right in front of me?

Why had I ever let him out of my sight for a minute? Why had I not spent every single minute I could with him?

How could I have missed those chances, and how can I ever make up for them now that he's gone?

* * *

I've grown up since he's been gone.

Actually, I think I've grown up because he _has _gone, and that somehow hurts worse.

It's not as if I could have stopped my getting older. But he always had a way of making everything seem young, and when you're sixteen and trapped in Maycomb, you miss that.

Sometimes I wonder if he'd recognize me now, with my long hair and my shorter frame and the way I actually represent a member of my own sex. I wonder if he'd like the way I look, though if he didn't it would be his own fault. If he hadn't left me, I wouldn't have changed.

* * *

Did you know that you can see the moon in Maycomb?

When he left, I forgot that things like that existed. But sometimes I can see it now. Sometimes.

When I look at the moon, I think about him even more, but it doesn't hurt the way it does any other time.

When I see the moon, I see his fuzzy-duck hair and his crooked smile and I can remember his voice.

And it makes me feel closer to him, if only for a minute or so. Like when I see the moon, I know that wherever he is, he'll be looking at it too. He was always a star-gazer. And it's like I could reach out and grab it, reach out and touch that beautiful pearl, and there he'd be, right next to me like he'd never disappeared.

It's funny how even a broken heart lets you pretend things like that. Even when you're sixteen and much too old for pretending.

* * *

Dear God, if I could just see him one more time. If I could only hear his voice in my ear once more. If one day I could look into Miss Rachel's collard patch and see his tiny frame curled up into a ball on the other side of the fence like the first time I met him.

If I could only look to the train station and for once and see a platform that wasn't empty, that wasn't devoid of all color and all life, that for the first time in six years would hold a face that I recognized…

* * *

I can feel myself unwinding again. It happens every night around this time. Those few moments where the sun has gone and the moon is not yet out and the whole World seems deserted…those moments where the landscape reflects what's inside me. I can never stand it for too long.

Pretty soon I'll be inside, curled up on the rug in the sitting room, trying to hold myself together and hiding my tears. Same as always.

There's something in the air today that I just can't take. A thick summer dust that stirs up memories and settles in your hair and on your tongue and in your heart…I won't be looking at the moon tonight.

And a little later when I've calmed down, Cal will come out of the kitchen with two glasses of lemonade and we'll sit for a little while, just right there on the floor. She'll sing a little. I'll talk about him, and she'll listen even though it's probably a story she's heard before.

* * *

It isn't really living, what I do every day now. Because I can't live without him. I can't.

No, this is just a routine. A ruse. A magic trick that can fool this whole town into thinking that breathing is still an unconscious action for Scout Finch.

If I was still alive I wouldn't be here anymore.

I'd be gone, so far gone, a million miles away from here, flying free.

If I was still alive, he'd still be with me.

And I wouldn't be spending every single summer day waiting for Dill to come back.


End file.
